Page 33 of His Godsent Duchess
Addison watched her carefully. "What do you intend to do, Your Grace?"
Christina let out a long, frustrated sigh and walked over to the chaise by the window, sinking onto it with Carrot still held protectively in her arms. She gazed out at the grounds beyond, the peaceful scene a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside her. "I do not know," she admitted, her voice a little hollow. "We have no proof that Miss Peversly lied about Carrot, only our suspicions. And suspicions are not enough to act on."
The ache in her chest deepened as she thought of Victor. He had said nothing in her defense. He had not believed her. The realization stung more than it should, and she couldn't shake it.
"What has she done to earn his trust so fully?" she muttered bitterly.
Addison remained silent, her brow furrowed with concern, waiting for Christina to continue.
Christina tightened her grip on Carrot, her fingers smoothing over the fur in slow, deliberate strokes.What was I expecting, truly? For him to take my side? To tell Miss Peversly that the affairs of the household were no longer her concern?She gave a hollow laugh, shaking her head. She was foolish to think he would ever see her as anything beyond the caretaker of his children.
Victor had made it clear from the very beginning—her role, her only role, was to be a mother to his daughters. That was the sole reason he had sought her out, the sole reason she had agreed to this marriage. No promises of love, no illusions of partnership—only the mutual understanding that the children came first.
And yet… She sighed again, her frustration and disappointment settling heavily on her shoulders. She had hoped, hadn't she? In some quiet, foolish corner of her heart, she had hoped that perhaps… just perhaps… he might come to trust her, to see her as more than a mere governess in his life.
But no. Victor had not stood by her. He had doubted her word, doubted her judgment, and that realization stung far more than it should have. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the wave of hurt that threatened to rise.
Focus on the children,she reminded herself firmly.They precede everything else. They are why you are here.
She glanced down at Carrot, who had curled into her lap, his small body warm and comforting against her.Yes, the children,she thought, closing her eyes for a moment.They are the reason. Not Victor's approval. Not his favor. Only the children.
Victor stepped into the drawing room, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The moment he crossed the threshold, all four girls rose from their seats and dipped into curtsies, their movements practiced and polite. He raised a brow, watching them with a measured gaze. Curtsies—something they had once found tedious and unnecessary, something they had all but refused to do in the past.
He ought to award Christina a point for this. The thought was not unwelcome, though he remained conflicted over the very notion of his wife wielding such influence over his daughters.
His gaze swept the room, noting immediately Christina's absence. Before he could ask, Annabelle spoke up.
"Christina will not be joining us this evening, Your Grace," she said, her voice clear, though she addressed his wife with the casual familiarity of first names.
Victor's frown deepened. "And why is that?" he asked sharply, his tone betraying the concern that flared within him.
Annabelle shook her head. "She is indisposed."
Katherine offered little more than a shrug, clearly as uncertain as her cousin. Victor wasted no time. He turned on his heel and left the room without another word, marching toward the stairs. His long strides carried him swiftly to the second floor, where he found Mrs. Brimsey emerging from the bedchamber.
"Mrs. Brimsey," he said, his voice tight, "is the Duchess ill?"
The housekeeper curtsied quickly. "Your Grace, she is asleep. It is nothing that requires a physician's presence—only rest."
Victor exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Mrs. Brimsey replied, her tone calm and composed. "She will be right as rain after some sleep."
Victor had no choice but to turn back. It unsettled him, this sense of helplessness when it came to his wife. He descended the stairs, returning to the dining room where his daughters sat in an unusual quiet.
As he took his seat at the head of the table, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain filled the silence. He observed the girls, noting how Agnes's wide eyes flicked toward Annabelle, copying her every movement with painstaking precision. A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Christina was right,he thought, her sister's presence was, indeed, good for the girls. Annabelle's influence had brought a sense of decorum, of order.
Midway through the meal, Cassidy broke the silence.
"Father," she said, her voice holding a trace of defiance, "are you going to send Carrot away?"
Victor's fork stilled, his brow knitting in confusion. "Who told you that?"
Amelia looked up from her plate, her eyes wide. "The servants are saying it. They say Carrot ruined a pillow and broke all those fancy porcelain things, so now he has to go."
Cassidy huffed, crossing her arms. "Mother won't let it happen."
Before Victor could respond, Agnes's lower lip trembled. She clutched her spoon tightly, her small face crumpling as tears welled up in her eyes. "Please, Papa," she whimpered, her voice trembling. "Don't send him away. He's so small and precious."
